


Kinaesthesia

by bluerighthand



Series: Alfie/Tommy AUs [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Embarrassment, Hand Jobs, Life Drawing, M/M, Porn With Plot, Very inappropriate life drawing activities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerighthand/pseuds/bluerighthand
Summary: Nudity didn’t bother him, everyone had something under their clothes, and bodies told a story.It had all started as an easy way to make money, but Tommy had come to enjoy life modelling, and expanded his business to London. However, standing naked in the studio of Alfie Solomons, Tommy couldn't help but feel a little in over his head.





	Kinaesthesia

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is slightly ridiculous, but I love art and I love Tommy, so why not combine them?
> 
> Also: I went with an explicit rating just to be on the safe side, but it could probably be mature.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. Wtma is 100% to blame for the smut (and the dressing gown) <3

As far as people went, Tommy was pretty shameless. Nudity didn’t bother him, everyone had something under their clothes, and bodies told a story.

Bullet wounds, tattoos, and white scars from fights long ago decorated Tommy’s skin. He liked to watch the reactions. Some people gaped at the wound in his shoulder, while others asked about his tattoos, what they meant, why he got them. Some said nothing at all, treating Tommy as just another figure, a few lines on a page.

He sat for his own portraits first. Grand paintings in golden frames to be mounted on the walls of his mansion. Then he’d been approached by Polly’s painter, Ruben, who made him an offer. Three hundred pounds for a few hours of his time. Tommy had turned him away initially; his suspicions surrounding the man were more than enough for him to think the worst. But after the situation had calmed, and Polly’s relationship with the man developed, Tommy’s interest grew.

Three hundred pounds for standing still for a couple of hours was a very good offer by anyone’s standards. He hadn’t realised Ruben meant _that_ kind of modelling at first, and almost stormed out, half expecting Arthur and John to jump out from behind the door with a camera the second he got his kit off. But Ruben had just smiled, and raised the price, adding another two hundred onto his offer.

At first, Tommy felt confident, unaffected by his nakedness. However, the longer Ruben had stared, peering up over his paper at Tommy, doubt trickled into his mind. Why him? There were surely hundreds of professional models who would do this for less. Ruben had given him a longwinded answer about his status in the community, but Tommy couldn’t help think there was an ulterior motive.

Nevertheless, he came to like the modelling. Posing made him stop moving for a second, gave him time to think. He’d lost count of how many business problems were solved in a session, not that he’d ever admit that to his brothers. He was pretty sure John would die of laughter if he knew he’d made this a regular thing, and Arthur would probably avoid his eyes for a week or so.

Most of the artists wanted figure practice, sketching the shapes his body made as he stood on a pedestal before them. There was something about being reduced to a few lines on paper that Tommy craved. Others wanted to paint, capturing a flat outline of his body with graphite before bringing him to life.

As his business expanded south, he extended his other work too. There were a far greater number of artists in London than Birmingham, and it was a profitable business.

 

A late August evening found Tommy in Camden, adjusting his glasses with a frown as he squinted at the crinkled map in his hands. He’d told Arthur to _fold_ it. Now he couldn’t see where on earth he was supposed to be going. He felt a drop of rain, and swore inwardly; he couldn’t turn up looking like a drowned rat again. Swallowing his pride, he asked an elderly woman for directions, and fifteen minutes and approximately four wrong turns later, he spotted the street sign. He knocked on the door hurriedly, glancing up at the dark sky.

The door opened, and needless to say, Tommy wasn’t expecting Alfie Solomons to be on the other side.

“Tommy” he cried. “Tommy Shelby. Come on, in you come” he said, ignoring the nonplussed expression on Tommy’s face.

“Hello Alfie” he said slowly, glancing around the entrance for someone else.

“You wanna take a look at my studio? We got a big crowd tonight, yeah, there’s all sorts in there”. Tommy stared at him blankly, before stepping back to take a second look at the number above the door. “Yeah this is the right place mate, come in” said Alfie. Tommy didn’t move.

“I didn’t know you painted, Alfie” he said instead, trying to assess the situation. Whose name had been on the cheque? He couldn’t remember, but it certainly wasn’t Alfie’s.

Alfie didn’t seem on edge, or prepared for fighting. He wore a loose shirt and dark trousers, a belt with pockets attached slung around his waist. Sticks of graphite poking out the top were better than gun barrels. Then again, he’d seen the wild look Alfie got in his eyes, and knew a cumbersome belt would do nothing to stop a fight if it started. Despite the potential threat, Tommy couldn’t help his eyes wander appreciatively over Alfie, silently cursing the gangster for looking so effortlessly handsome.

“It’s good to have an outlet, you know” said Alfie, launching into a ramble about the importance of creativity for his staff. “Relaxes ‘em doesn’t it” he said, “stressful business we got going on. Pays well too”.

“You sell the drawings?” Tommy asked. Alfie laughed, shaking his head.

“Not mine are they. Wouldn’t get a penny for Ollie’s neither. No, the artists, professional ones, not my lot, they gotta pay to come here. Takes me a lot of work to find a model half as pretty as yourself, gotta be paid for my time don’t I?”.

“That seems fair” said Tommy after a while, most of his brain whirring over Alfie’s comment. Did he actually mean it, or was that just how he was?

“So, you coming in or not mate?” Alfie asked, holding the door open for Tommy. “Cause I’m gonna have to get poor Ollie up there if not and there ain’t one person ‘ere that wants that”. Tommy bit his tongue to avoid smiling, and thought about the offer. Objectively, standing naked and, more importantly, unarmed under the roof of a business partner who may quite possibly have betrayed him was not a good idea. But Tommy had been chasing bad ideas since he could crawl, and he wasn’t going to stop now.

He crossed the threshold, glancing back as Alfie shut the door behind him. He didn’t lock it, which was the first sign this wasn’t an ambush. The thought both reassured and confused Tommy.

Alfie showed him to a small room, furnished with a few chairs and a table. The window faced out onto the street, and Alfie pulled the curtains shut as he explained Tommy could undress and leave his belongings here. He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Tommy quickly busied himself by slinging his hat onto the table.

“One more thing” said Alfie, disappearing momentarily to grab something. “Here you go sweetie” he said, shoving something lilac and silky at Tommy before ducking out of the room. Tommy held the item out in front of him. It was a silk dressing gown, embroidered with white flowers down the sides. Bloody hell. Was he really going to do this?

 

Alfie was leaning against the wall as Tommy stepped out of the room, clad only in the silken material.

“Right, hello” said Alfie, like he’d been pulled from a deep thought, eyes fixed on where the silk accentuated Tommy’s slim waist. Tommy revelled under his gaze, and Alfie shifted when he saw him staring, running a hand over his eyes and gesturing down the corridor.

“Sorry about that Tommy, it’s just down here look”. Tommy couldn’t help the upward curl of his mouth.

Stepping into the studio, a large room with a high ceiling, Tommy surveyed the people gathered there. They were mostly older people, who looked right at home surrounded by stacks of paper and well used art supplies. A couple of younger guys were also present, and Tommy spotted Ollie, his eyes wide in recognition as he stared at Tommy.

Alfie led him onto a wooden platform in the centre of the room, and introduced him, stating quite clearly anyone creating less than a masterpiece was not doing Tommy justice. A few minutes passed, and the artists and various members of Alfie’s staff readied themselves, setting out paper and sharpening pencils. Alfie got out a thick wad of white fabric, and slung it over the stage, creating a cushioned surface. Although Tommy felt far less at risk than he had initially, he was still on high alert, preparing himself for the sudden appearance of a gun.

“Whenever you’re ready then Tommy-boy” said Alfie, nodding to his robe. Tommy took a final glance at the exits before disrobing, letting the silk slide down his body and settle at his feet. He looked across at Alfie, for guidance on which pose he should assume, and found him staring at Tommy with an intensity he’d never seen before.

Alfie stepped up onto the platform, walking towards where he stood in the centre. Tommy’s throat was dry. If Alfie was going to turn on him, it would be now. His eyes roamed the artists again, searching for the faces of Sabini’s men. But instead, Alfie started moving Tommy’s limbs, positioning him how he wanted. His touch sent tingles down Tommy’s spine.

He guided Tommy’s hands to cup behind his head, short hair prickling his palms. Alfie’s gaze meandered down his chest, and Tommy tried to reign in his heartbeat, almost sure it could be seen hammering against his ribs. Alfie’s hands gripped his hips, positioning him slightly more upright, and tapping his shoe against Tommy’s inner ankle, encouraging him to shuffle his legs further apart.

“That’s it, stay right there” he said gruffly, admiring the pose. He trailed his fingers slowly down Tommy’s leg, the rough pads strangely comforting as he was stared at from all angles. Made him feel less alone. Then he was gone, stepping down off the platform and circling the room, instructing the class to use sticks of charcoal for this sketch. Tommy liked this part. It was calming, just standing there and listening to the scratches of pencil across paper. He closed his eyes at some point, but opened them abruptly, reminding himself that an attack could still be imminent.

“Bloody hell mate, what’s that?” said Alfie, circling the room and stopping to peer over Ollie’s shoulder.

“I can’t get the proportions right” he complained, putting down his charcoal. Alfie picked it up, making a few quick lines on the paper in front of him.

“You’ve gotta be more decisive, make these big lines first yeah, get the shape right and worry about all the details later. Never gonna get anywhere that way”. Ollie sighed, trying again. Ishmael didn’t seem to have done much better, Alfie studying his paper in confusion before simply throwing his hands in the air, muttering about shading as he walked away.

“Right” said Alfie, clambering onto the platform sometime later. “Next one”. He wanted Tommy on the floor, legs curled around each other and arms stretched out above his head. Tommy felt rather sorry for the artists as he lay back, this pose seeming far more complicated than the last. He let his eyes close this time, and opened them five minutes later when Alfie gently shook his shoulder.

“Getting sleepy are we?” he chuckled. Tommy sat up, shaking his head.

“Just resting me eyes”.

Alfie wanted him crouching next, arms resting on his knees. Tommy’s calves started to ache, and luckily he didn’t have to hold that or the following few poses for long, Alfie wanting the class to concentrate on the quick capture of form.

“Right, for this one” started Alfie, before moving closer to Tommy, “for this one I want you on your knees” he said. Tommy dropped to the floor, knees cushioned against the fabric, looking up at Alfie through his lashes. Alfie shook his head. “All the way down” he said, holding his hands out in front of him in a mimic of the position.

Tommy’s eyes widened in understanding, trying to shake the butterflies that had gathered in his stomach. He’d held this pose before, why was this time any different? He knew the answer of course, and it had nothing to do with guns or ambush.

He got on all fours, cheeks reddening slightly. Alfie shuffled around beside him, before, oh God, placing a hand on the small of his back and _pushing_. He arched dutifully, all too aware that he was completely and utterly exposed. Alfie hummed.

“That’s beautiful, that is” he said, from behind. Tommy gulped. “Beautiful angle, look at the light here” he continued, going into a ramble about shading and the benefits of white chalk. Tommy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He held that pose for ten minutes, his mind subconsciously filling each one with thoughts of what else he could be doing in this position. Alfie’s warm hands occasionally tracing his hip, or the curve of his shoulder blade didn’t help.

Thankfully, the scrutiny of his audience worked in his favour, and meeting the eyes of several elderly men was enough to stop blood rushing to his cock. He held two more poses after that, one on a chair, back straight and head held high, and one the floor, with his legs curled up to his chest, long hair flopping over his forearm.

“Right we got one last thing to do” said Alfie, climbing onto the platform and patting the chair. Tommy sat obediently, and Alfie moved him forwards so his buttocks were on the edge of the seat, pushing his shoulders so they were pressed against the back. It was a little uncomfortable, but Tommy didn’t complain. It was the last pose after all.

“What it is, yeah, is kinaesthetic art” said Alfie, eyebrows furrowing disapprovingly at the lack of response from his students.

“Tommy here’s gonna tip his pretty ‘ead back, real slowly, and you lot are gonna capture that change” he explained. Tommy hoped nobody could see the flush rising back to his cheeks. “You’ve got to look at the whole body, not just the head yeah? His chest is gonna stretch out too see, and his muscles here” he said, rubbing a hand over Tommy’s stomach. Ollie looked particularly confused.

“We only have one piece left” he said, holding up his singular sheet of paper. Alfie sighed.

“Yeah, well that’s all you need mate”. At Ollie’s blank expression, he elaborated. “You just keep going over the pose, when ‘e moves, add new lines on top, then you capture the ‘ole thing yeah?”. Ollie nodded slowly in understanding, picking up his chalk. Alfie squeezed Tommy’s shoulder, stepping down from the platform. “Whenever you’re ready treacle”.

Tommy nodded, and began to move. It took a moderate amount of self-control not to lean back all the way, especially with his neck aching slightly at particular points. He watched Alfie’s bustling movements, until his view changed and he was staring up at the concrete ceiling. His neck eventually hit the back of the chair, and he relaxed gratefully, his chest arching as he leaned into the support. Alfie clapped his hands together.

“Let’s have a look then” he said, and Tommy listened to his footsteps as he strode around the studio.

“Fucks sake Ollie” said Alfie, launching into a rant about rigid poses and how a looser grip on would solve all his problems. Tommy peered over, attempting to see Ollie’s work, a smile fighting its way onto his lips at Alfie’s lecture.

A second later, Alfie had waved them all away, and the artists were packing up, the room a flurry of paper as the drawings were stuffed into bags or slid into folders. Tommy caught a few glimpses, but was more focused on covering himself, sliding the silk robe back around his body, and tying a loose knot at his waist. Alfie approached the platform, holding out a hand. Tommy took it, savouring the contact, climbing down and following Alfie back into the small room he’d left his clothes in.

The room had darkened as the city turned to night, and Alfie lit a few small candles, giving the space a cosy feel. Tommy reached for his shirt, but paused, unsure if he should change with Alfie in the room. He laughed inwardly. Alfie, and about thirty other people, had just seen every inch of him, spread out on the platform. The fact that he felt self-conscious now that he and Alfie were alone had that heat rising on his cheeks again, and he turned to face the wall.

“So” said Alfie, making no move to exit. “How’dya find that then Tommy?”.

“Good” said Tommy, fiddling with the tie of his gown. “I’ve never done that before. The kinaesthetic thing”. Alfie grinned at this.

“Glad I could mix it up a bit for you” he said, moving towards Tommy and leaning one hand on the table in front of him. “Drawing you is like a religious fucking experience yeah, but I suppose you get a whole other side to it” he hummed. Tommy faced him.

“You drew me too?” he asked, surprised. He hadn’t seen Alfie with his own pad or stick of graphite, despite his eyes trailing him at every opportunity.

“Course I did” he said, sounding almost offended. “You’re fucking beautiful”. Tommy tried very hard to keep the smile off his lips, but it broke through, and he grinned at the floor. Alfie reached out, tilting his chin up. “There’s that smile” he said, “knew you’d have a lovely one, like a ray of sunshine yeah?”. Tommy huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, before curiosity overtook him.

“Can I see?” he asked, “the drawings, I mean”. Alfie nodded, pulling a small sketchbook out of his pocket.

“Here” he said, handing it to Tommy, who flicked through the pages. Nine times out of ten he didn’t see the finished products up close, and the feeling of staring down at his own face was still slightly strange. Alfie’s style was bold, wild lines covering the pages and matching the look in his eyes. Tommy recognised some of the poses he’d just held, but there were doodles interspersed throughout the pages, that Tommy realised were also of him.

A sketched pair of lips, collarbones highlighted with white chalk, his tattoos, the lines dark and hard. Tommy bit his lip as he turned the page.

It was _that_ pose. This was the most detailed drawing so far, with highlights and shadows emphasising the curves of his arse, the arch in his back. He’d drawn every inch of Tommy, adding particular detail to that place between his legs. Tommy swallowed, glancing up at Alfie to see him watching, eyes dark. He quickly turned the page to the final drawing.

It was a pencil portrait of Tommy’s profile. His lashes were dark against his cheek, and Tommy noticed Alfie had tamed his style somewhat to give him a softer glow. Tommy smiled. Alfie had taken so much care with this page, and the little details he’d captured, the highlight in his hair, the faint scar on his cheek, made Tommy melt a little inside. When he tore his eyes away and looked up again, Alfie was still watching him, smiling through his beard.

They didn’t speak for a moment, just looked. Alfie had been studying Tommy all afternoon, but this was the first time Tommy could openly return the favour. Alfie’s sleeves were rolled up, Tommy’s eyes catching on his tanned forearms.

“See” said Alfie, reaching down slowly and taking hold of the silk tie of Tommy’s gown. “Kinaesthesia’s like a sixth sense, yeah, it’s how we see body position” he gave the tie a pull, loosening the knot half way. Tommy held his breath. “Shows the weight of muscles, and how they move. Good sense to ‘ave, that is”. Alfie pulled the tie again, and it came loose, the gown falling away from Tommy’s front, cool air soothing on his skin. When did it get so hot?

“The body in movement” Alfie murmured, eyes trailing down Tommy’s figure until they reached his crotch, in which Tommy realised there was indeed movement occurring.

Oh no. He saw Alfie’s eyes widen and embarrassment settled in his gut: he’d not even been touched, what if this wasn’t what Alfie wanted? He tried to think of anything to calm himself: Arthur’s feet, falling off his horse and hitting his head on that rock, that sandwich he forgot about and found with lifeforms growing on it two weeks later. But no, Alfie’s hands skirting his waist, fingers dipping to curl in the short hair above his cock had him undeniably hard in moments.

Alfie seemed to sense his mild mortification, reaching up and stroking his thumb against Tommy’s cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay” he said, his pupils blown wide. Tommy nodded, calming when he saw the growing bulge in Alfie’s trousers.

Alfie reached forwards, and cupped him gently, Tommy’s lips falling open in a silent gasp. He gripped Alfie’s wrist weakly, hitching an intake of breath as his calloused hand circled his cock in a loose fist. Alfie began to stroke Tommy, who let out a low whine from the back of his throat, biting his lip quickly to stifle the sound.

Alfie thumbed Tommy’s bottom lip with his other hand, freeing it from his teeth and watching as the pale skin darkened to pink again.

He’d have to draw those lips some more. A piece formed in his mind: tan paper, white chalk, charcoal, and Tommy’s lips, glistening as they stretched around his cock. A shiver of arousal shot down Alfie’s spine, settling in his crotch and pulsing. He gripped Tommy’s cock more firmly, each tug pulling him closer to Alfie until his head was nestled in the crook of his neck. Alfie stroked over the short hairs at the base of his skull, grinning as Tommy leant into his touch. His hips were rocking into Alfie’s hand, and he moaned softly as Alfie twisted his wrist.

“Look at you” groaned Alfie, cock throbbing with need, “fuck Tommy”.

Tommy’s moans turned into breathy gasps as heat pooled deep within him, hips stuttering and eyes fluttering closed as Alfie took him closer to the edge. “That’s it” he whispered, circling the sensitive head with his thumb, “come for me”.

Tommy cried out as he came, Alfie stroking him through, pressing a kiss into his hair as the sensations receded and leaving Tommy gasping softly. He quietened, and opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he came back to himself.

There was a smudge of charcoal on his hipbone, and though he was usually fastidiously clean, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to wipe it away. Instead, he reached out to Alfie, tugging at his shirt with shaking hands. Alfie pulled him close, thumbing his neck in a soothing gesture.

“You wanna do a bit of private modelling for me, Tommy?” he asked in a rush, like he had to convince himself to get the words out. Tommy leaned up, and finally pressed a kiss to his mouth in answer.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written any smut before, so I'm pretty nervous about this, but I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! <3 
> 
> I'm strongly thinking about doing a part 2, if only because I'm heavily procrastinating from the utter mess that is GUAS Chapter 2 and I really liked writing about poses and paintings and art stuff.


End file.
